


My Moral Standing Is Lying Down

by DabMyWetties



Series: halo fifteen [1]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boys In Love, Clubbing, Dancing, F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Pride, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 18:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11110281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DabMyWetties/pseuds/DabMyWetties
Summary: Scott nods his thanks to the bartender as he takes drink number - 3? 4? whatever - of the evening and turns his attention back to the dance floor. He’s focused on two important missions tonight: get drunk and dance with cute boys. Everything else is filler. He just needs to get enough alcohol in him to calm his nerves sufficiently to do something more than stand in the shadows, trembling and feeling insecure.





	My Moral Standing Is Lying Down

**Author's Note:**

> It’s Pride month. The LGBTQ+ community’s ongoing battle for equality has come so, so far, especially in the last 20 years. While there are a lot of factors that have brought us to this point, one of the most significant, in my opinion, is the role the internet has played. It’s allowed us to more easily connect with each other and has been perhaps the best vehicle for queer visibility since Gilbert Baker created the first Pride flag.  
> It wasn’t always like this. It was hard being young and queer in the 1990s, but that time period was pivotal; dusk was falling on what being queer had always been. It was the end of small pockets of queerness, of gay districts and questionable bars and kids not having anywhere to turn for help.  
> After fighting hard for 50 years, advancing equality bit by bit, there’s a very real fear that we may lose ground in the current political climate. In honor of #Pride2017, and as a reminder of why we need to keep fighting, I’m going to use the internet to take a jump to the left and time warp Scott, Mitch, and the gang back to the mid 90s. Only the wealthy had cell phones, the internet was rudimentary and haphazard, and the music was amazing. The experiences in this series will reflect experiences I personally had or that friends of mine had in the queer community during that time. 
> 
> This is more than a love story.

Scott nods his thanks to the bartender as he takes drink number - 3? 4? whatever - of the evening and turns his attention back to the dance floor. He’s focused on two important missions tonight: get drunk and dance with cute boys. Everything else is filler. He just needs to get enough alcohol in him to calm his nerves sufficiently to do something more than stand in the shadows, trembling and feeling insecure. He feels too tall, he feels like he’s dressed all wrong, and he has no idea how to dance to this music. He has no idea how to behave at all, really; he’s never been to a club before, let alone a gay friendly one, _most_ especially never to a goth one, and it’s only through careful observation that he was able to timidly order his first drink from a bar with his fake ID burning a hole in his pocket.

The drinking’s gotten easier, at least. He hopes the cute boys and the dancing will follow soon.  

His eyes scan the club again. It’s not what he’d been expecting. It’s smaller than he thought it would be, though that might be more illusory due to the fact that the walls are painted mostly black. There’s a whole lot of black, actually. At least he fits with the color scheme, though his black jeans and plain black tee are downright conservative compared to the elaborate outfits most of the dancers are wearing. There’s a haze of cigarette smoke which, combined with the fairly rudimentary light system, gives the place an otherworldly feel. Maybe that’s just the alcohol talking, though. He tries to sway in time with the music again and he’s beginning to feel a little more comfortable. This song is familiar. He’s seen it on MTV a few times - Susie something or another. He even manages to hum along with the chorus as Susie wails “Peek-a-boo!” from the booming speakers.  

He’s definitely feeling that last drink, a pleasant warmth taking over and his trembling hands calming. Scott examines the dance floor carefully, watching the swaying bodies and trying to memorize the way everyone dips and stomps and makes grand, sweeping gestures with their arms. It doesn’t look so hard. One more drink, just to calm the last of his nerves, and he’s going to get out of the shadows and maybe onto the dance floor.

As he sips vodka tonic number 4 or 5, his eyes again find the cute boy he’s been trying not to stare at since he’d arrived. There are kind of a ridiculous number of cute boys but he keeps coming back to this one. He’s thin with dark hair falling past his shoulders, eyes smudged with kohl and lips painted black, a silver piercing glinting from his septum and another in the middle of his bottom lip. He stands out, his white peasant blouse a beacon in the sea of black. Scott’s only seen him leave the dance floor to smoke a quick cigarette or to gulp down a drink at the bar - otherwise he’s been in the same corner, nearest the speakers, stomping and swaying like an extension of the music itself. He wants to approach him but has no idea how. Maybe he could dance near him and try to catch his eye? Offer to buy him a drink? He may not even be gay; he kind of gives off the vibe but he’s seen a few others tonight who pinged his gaydar before dancing near and dirty with a girl. It’s hard to tell with these goth boys and he’s the furthest thing from an expert when it comes to anything gay or gay-related..

Scott waits too long. A thin, tattooed guy with an impressive black mohawk begins dancing ever-closer to Mr. Peasant Blouse and gets a smile of welcome. They look good dancing together; Mr. Tattoos knows the music and how to move to it. Scott’s shoulders slump and he drains the rest of his drink. Damn. He goes back to scanning the floor for other options, wishing someone cute would just approach him so he didn’t have to feel so lost and awkward.

A couple songs later Scott has managed to work up the nerve to stand right up next to the dance floor, holding a fresh drink he really doesn’t want but figured he should get so he’d have something to do with his hands. Getting out of the corner he’d been hiding in has helped some, but so far all the flirty glances he’s received have been from women. He sways a little and scans the crowd once more.

His eyes fall on Mr. Peasant Blouse and his brow creases slightly. Mr. Tattoos is attempting something straight out of _Dirty Dancing_ and Mr. Peasant Blouse is trying to nudge him away, but Tattoos isn’t taking the hint. Mr. Tattoos grips the dark-haired man’s hips and pulls him close, grinding against him and leaning his head in for a kiss, while Peasant Blouse pushes against Tattoos’ chest with increasing force and tries to squirm away. Okay, this doesn’t look good. Like he’s on autopilot, Scott weaves through the mass of swaying bodies and over to the struggling pair. He’s got at least six inches on Mr. Tattoos and hopes that’ll be enough to diffuse the situation, and it _is_ a situation because, though he can’t hear it over the music, he can see Peasant Blouse telling the other guy repeatedly to stop.

“There you are!” Scott yells with a bright smile. He moves his free elbow in between the two men and holds his untouched vodka tonic out to Mr. Peasant Blouse. “Got you that drink, want it now or should I take it to the table?” Scott has no idea where this false confidence is coming from, but the dark-haired boy is smiling at him and wrenching away from Mr. Tattoos and suddenly that willowy arm is looped through Scott’s as he takes the proffered drink. “Thank you, darling!” he shouts, his voice so melodic Scott feels his knees go weak, but this ethereal boy is tugging him away from the dance floor and towards the tables in the back of the club and he can do nothing but stumble after him.

He’s not complaining.  

“Jesus fuck, _thank_ you,” the boy says once they’re a bit further from the speakers and don’t need to yell to be heard. Scott’s having a hard time keeping his breathing under control, keenly aware of the arm still looped through his. They reach a table where a guy and a girl are sitting, arms around each other's’ shoulders, and the boy stops. “Thanks, really. Do you, uh, want this back?” he asks, holding out the drink and smiling shyly. He’s even more amazing up close. Scott’s staring and can’t seem to bring himself to care about how obvious he’s being about it. He shakes his head and manages to find his voice. “Um. No. I mean, if you want it… I think I’ve had enough for now… you can have it if you want it…” he trails off. He’s blushing furiously. He can feel it.

Peasant Blouse hasn’t let go of his arm. He glances down at their joined limbs, then back up. “I’m Scott,” he says hesitantly. “Mitch,” the boy replies after a moment, still with the shy smile. “And I should probably let go of your arm now, huh?” God, that _voice_ is insane.  

Mitch. Scott rolls the name around in his mind. It suits him. He looks at their linked arms yet again, then back up at Mitch and shrugs. “I don’t… I don’t mind,” he manages.

There’s a pointed throat-clearing to Scott’s left and they break eye contact to look over at the couple still seated at the table they’re standing next to. “Gonna introduce him, Mitchy?” the girl asks, a smirk on her blood-red lips. Mitch turns his attention back to Scott. “Were you, like, in the middle of something? Or did you maybe want to sit with us for a minute, or…?” The alcohol coursing through his veins gives Scott a boost of courage. “If I sit down do I have to let go of you?” he asks with a crooked grin, jigging their still-linked arms.

The answer to that is mostly no, apparently. Mitch lets go long enough to drag another chair over and for both of them to get seated before linking his arm with Scott’s again. “This is Scott, my hero for the night,” Mitch says by way of introduction. “Some skeezy fuck wouldn’t keep his hands off my ass and tall, blonde’n handsome here chased him off.” Mitch grins and fakes a swoon, then gestures towards the couple. “This is my best friend Kirstie and that pointy-toothed bastard is Jeremy.” Jeremy flashes a grin, indeed revealing vampire-esque canines, and nods in greeting while Kirstie gracefully offers a hand with long, black fingernails. Scott navigates polite small talk for a few minutes until the couple excuses themselves to go dance.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” Mitch says, gulping down half the vodka tonic that must be watered down from the melted ice by this point. “Yeah,” Scott replies, meeting Mitch’s eyes for a moment before lowering his gaze and smiling. “I’m not… it’s my first time here. Someone at school recommended it. This is all, uh, kinda new to me.” He doesn’t know how much to admit, if he should say he’s more into En Vogue and Boyz II Men than whatever’s blasting through the speakers, if he should own up to being about a month halfway out of the closet and painfully shy.  Mitch leans into him a little more, giving him a gentle nudge. “I wanna dance. Come with me?”

Yes. Yes, he does want to do that, but he’ll settle for dancing right now and there’s enough vodka in his system to make him feel okay about the dancing thing. There’s not quite enough, though, to obliterate reality. He nods and Mitch leaps to his feet, pulling Scott with him. “I’m, um, probably not a very good dancer. I don’t really know this music,” Scott warns him and Mitch just grins widely. Oh, _god_ , he’s got dimples. “S’okay, preppy boy,” Mitch responds, tucking his hair behind his ear as they make their way towards the dance floor. “This is an easy song. Just watch me if you don’t know what to do.”

Whether he knows what the fuck he’s doing or not, watching Mitch is exactly Scott’s plan.  

Alright, this is okay. He kind of knows this song and he can move to it without embarrassing himself. Step, step, step, sway...there we go, just let his arms hang loose because he’s not about to try the arm sweeping thing everyone else is doing… everyday is Halloween, bop bop-bop, he’s got this. He must not be completely awful because Mitch keeps giving him that shy smile and the familiar Halloween song fades into something else he doesn’t recognize but he keeps going because this new song is soft and slow and Mitch is dancing _closer_ now. A sweeping arm brushes against his, hips and shoulders occasionally bump together, and for a fleetingly blissful moment Mitch twirls and dips to the music, his long hair trailing across Scott’s face. He smells like apples and cigarettes and when the moment is over Scott inhales and inhales again, chasing the scent and the effect it had on him.

The slow song fades into another one and another and they keep dancing, then suddenly the music isn’t slow anymore. It’s a little weird and kind of angry and he swears the words “I’ll fuck anything that moves” just blasted through the speakers. The dance floor is filling fast with what seems like everyone in the club, so many boots stomping he can feel the floor shake. Scott hesitates and tries to concentrate on Mitch’s stomping, combat-booted feet - and is everyone chanting “fuck it up Pigface?” How do you dance to this?? His discomfort must be obvious because suddenly Mitch’s hand is on his shoulder, then it’s gripping the crook of his elbow and pulling him off the dance floor. He leans up and tugs on Scott’s arm to get him to lean down; Mitch shouts “Drinks!” over the music and tilts his head towards the bar.

It’s marginally quieter there. They don’t need to yell, but Scott does need to lean near Mitch’s ear to ask what he wants to drink. Okay, maybe he doesn’t need to lean quite _that_ close but Mitch’s hair definitely smells like apples and he wants to breathe that in. Mitch leans up just as close to his ear to answer “a Coke;” Scott isn’t sure if Mitch needs to press his whole body up against his side when he does it, especially considering he’s still moving with the music, but he’s not about to say anything. He raises an eyebrow at the drink order, though, and Mitch taps the black X inked on the back of his hand in the same spot Scott received an ink stamp of a bat when he entered the club.. “Underage. And I’m driving.” That… makes sense.

Drinks in hands and Mitch’s arm looped through his again, Scott lets himself be led. They wind up in a small alcove with a few tables and chairs scattered around. It’s quieter here, almost quiet enough to only have to use mildly raised voices to talk, but Mitch still leans up and near to ask “Having fun with the freaks, preppy boy?” The warm breath on his ear sends a shiver up Scott’s spine. “You’re not… freaks,” he manages and Mitch laughs. “Yeah we are. So _are_ you having fun? And why’re you taking a walk on the wild side?”

Scott leans away just slightly, enough to look down and see the smile on Mitch’s face, the silver of his lip ring glinting in the dim light. He wonders wildly how kissing someone with a lip ring works and chews on his own lip to keep himself from trying to find out.

“I’m…” he begins, then tilts his head down - really, just to make sure he can be heard. “I am having fun. More than I expected.” Mitch grins and tilts his head up. He is so close, _holy shit_ he’s _right there_ and Scott doesn’t know what to do. “But why’s a preppy boy slumming it with the freaks? Why aren’t you somewhere dancing to Ace of Base or some shit?” Mitch asks, still grinning, his tongue poking out to worry at his lip piercing. Words. Let’s find words. Scott doesn’t know how much to admit. “Well, I’m not ...look, promise you won’t laugh?” Mitch cocks an eyebrow at that, still wiggling that lip ring around and Scott can’t seem to look anywhere else. “Can’t promise but I’ll try not to?” he replies between wiggles.

“Okay, well,” Scott begins, dropping his gaze. “I’m not, like, ready for a gay bar yet, okay? And so a couple people from the alliance group at school said I should start with this place. Because I guess it’s gay friendly? And, y’know, that way I can kind of ease in to the whole, um, scene?” Mitch doesn’t laugh, but when Scott looks back up from the floor he’s still smiling. “Yeah, you’d get eaten alive by a whole pack of bears.” Scott has no idea what that means but he doesn’t have time to ask before Mitch goes on. “They sent you to the right place. Everyone looks out for everyone here, even lost, cute preppy boys. So you’re fresh out of the closet?”

That term he does understand. Scott sighs a little, feeling more relaxed. “Yeah, basically,” he says. “At school, I mean. About a month? No one else knows. I guess probably about a year to myself?” It has been a year. The realization had affected him so badly that he’d had to drop out his freshman year after two weeks. Mitch is nodding at him, still wiggling that lip ring though his smile is gentler now. “It’s gonna be okay, “ he says. “I’m out at school. My friends… they know. Not my family. I’ve known a hell of a lot longer than a year, though.”

A weight he didn’t know was there lifts from Scott’s chest and he can’t seem to stop smiling. It’s gonna be okay, that’s what Mitch said. He’s been through it. He knows. It’s gonna be okay.  

Mitch breaks him from his reverie with a little nudge. “Hey, you wanna, um, come get some food with us afterwards tonight?” That’s a silly question. He’ll do anything if it means dragging this night on longer. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that. But right now I’d like another drink. Want anything?” he asks. They’re smiling at each other like idiots, Scott’s pretty sure of it. “Just water,” Mitch says, his smile shifting a little. “I’m gonna smoke while you do that. I’m dying here. Been putting it off waiting for you to kiss me but you’re taking way too long.”

If it were a movie this would be the point that the needle would scratch across the record and bring a deafening silence to the club. It’s kind of what happens in Scott’s mind, at least. For a long, stretched-out moment all he can hear is the blood whooshing in his ears.

Turns out kissing someone with a lip ring is a whole lot like kissing someone without one, except this is something altogether different because he’s kissing a _boy_ which is this whole new thing, and he’s kissing the most gorgeous boy he’s ever seen in his life, and suddenly, for the first time, Scott understands why people actually enjoy kissing.

After a minute or maybe forever Scott pauses to catch his breath, opening his eyes slowly. The corner of his mouth twitches, and Mitch is looking back at him and the corner of _his_ mouth is twitching too. “Your lipstick,” Scott says quietly, trying not to laugh. It’s managed to get itself transferred mostly off of his lips and into a black smear over his cheek. Mitch does laugh, reaches out with his thumb and wipes at Scott’s lips. “Is all over your face too,” Mitch finishes. They both laugh, then kiss again, then Mitch finds a cocktail napkin on a nearby table and cleans both their faces off before pulling out a cigarette. “Let’s go get your drink, preppy boy. Time for my smoke break.”

Mitch smokes. Scott works on his drink, his head buzzing and his nose feeling a little numb. It seems a natural thing as they watch the dance floor from the little alcove that Mitch slides his arm around Scott’s waist, and that Scott drapes his over Mitch’s shoulders. This feels...right. It feels like breathing.

“Last call is soon,” Mitch leans up, lips brushing over Scott’s ear, then along his jaw. “Come dance with me?”

That’s an easy yes, and so they do. “Just relax and move with me,” Mitch shouts in his ear over the music as a new song begins. Before Scott can process what that means, Mitch spins around and _leans_ the back of his body flush against him, making Scott bend slightly backwards, and Mitch is _moving_ to the music and there is no way he can’t feel the effect those swaying hips are having. It only takes two or three sways to grok to what he’s trying to do. Scott relaxes, lets Mitch’s weight lean him back and move him, and suddenly they’re moving together like Scott knows what he’s doing.

This is easily the hottest experience of his life so far and the music, which he’s starting to really enjoy, doesn’t hurt. Nothing quite like the feel of something new indeed. The back of Mitch’s head is pressed into his left shoulder so it’s trivial to lean down, brush his mouth over his ear, and say “I like this song. Who is it?” Scott’s pretty sure he hears Mitch answer with something like “Nine Inch Nails” but he gets distracted when the beat of the song intensifies and, with it, Mitch’s swaying against him and forgets the question.

 

 

 

 

**Music references (I recommend taking a quick listen to some of these to get the vibe of the story!):**

“Susie something or another” = Siouxie & the Banshees “[Peek-A-Boo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A9J7ymRmrl0)”

Ministry  “[Everyday Is Halloween](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kRQACpBiFzc)”

Pigface ”[SickAspFuck](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ItJHZZZf2iM)”

Nine Inch Nails  ”[The Only Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nnk6fVzPvk8)”

 

 

 

 


End file.
